


Hero of War

by vaderina



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaderina/pseuds/vaderina
Summary: War only remembers those who don't want to be forgotten. But everyone remembers the horrors of war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read.  
> Characters don't belong to me. Only the typos and mistakes.

Newt hurried into the Woolworths building cursing his luck. His niffler had made another bid for freedom so he was running late. Of all the days he could have been late it had to have been today. The British delegation from the Ministry of Magic was arriving and while nobody told him what the traditions were for such an occasion, Newt got the definite impression that people were looking forward to it. Perhaps it was a big buffet? He couldn’t fathom it out. All he knew was his brother was coming to New York as part of the delegation and that was reason enough to celebrate. As he burst into the great entrance hall of MACUSA he was surprised to find it deserted. Maybe everyone was having a breakfast meeting? It seemed strange but...okay. Newt didn’t think the Brits were that big a deal for everyone but still.

He was just by the staircase when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Newt turned around and saw Miles and Jones, two of the aurors.

“Are you British or American today Scamander?” Miles asked with a grin.

“I’m always British.” Newt responded puzzled by such an odd question. Immediately the two aurors drew their wands. Newt panicked. He flung spells without a wand, the two men hit the ground bound, gagged and unconscious within moments, their wands lay by Newt. An alarm blared through the hall.

A group of people burst through a side door and ran towards the commotion in the entrance hall. Theseus and Picquery were at the front, both their wands drawn. They pulled to a stop a few metres from Newt. He had his back pressed against the marble wall, hands glowing with unspent magic. His eyes scanned the room wildly as he tried to catch his panicked breath.

“Keep back.” Theseus instructed the group who looked at him not understanding. “He won’t know it’s you if you approach. He’ll attack.”

“War fatigue?” understanding dawned on Picquery’s face.

“We called it shell shock but effectively, yes.” Theseus replied. He looked at Newt. His brother’s shirt was soaked with sweat, his lips were dry and his breathing was fast and shallow. His palms were starting to blister with the magic flowing through them.

“This may seem brutal, but it works.” Theseus warned before he took a step towards Newt. The younger brother’s eyes flicked towards him and he visibly tried to flatten himself further against the wall.

“Status soldier.” Theseus barked. Newt whined in distress. Theseus took another step forward.

“Soldier REPORT.” Theseus ordered. “What can you see?”

Newt’s eyes were flicking round the hall again, never resting on anything for more than a fraction of a second.

“The border.” he croaked out eventually.

“Where?”

“Ukraine-Russia, sir.”

“What can you see?” Theseus’ voice was cold and harsh, every bit the general he had been in the war.

“Bodies, blood. So much blood.” Newt’s voice broke. His breathing picked up, even shallower before. He wavered on his feet, the magic in his hands pulsed and flickered. He looked ready to bolt or fall down and only terror was pinning him in place. A hand landed on Theseus’ shoulder.

“If I may?” Percival Graves offered kindly.

“You know what you’d doing?” Theseus asked spikily.

“I’ve had my share of the war.” Percival nodded. His eye’s never left Newt’s face. Theseus stepped back and let his friend take control.

“Newt?” Percival asked softly. The sudden change of voice and tone threw Newt. He looked Percival for a few moments before his eyes were back to scanning the room.

“Newt, what can you see?” Percival gently probed. The group behind him shifted uneasily. They weren’t comfortable seeing the seemingly naïve and innocent magizoologist so exposed. Nobody had thought he’d actually seen the war.

“Dragons. My dragons.” Newt’s voice broke off into a sob.

“Okay. You said you were on the border. In the woods?” Percival continued.

“The great plains. The grass is red with blood. My company’s gone.” the distressed wizard’s voice was hoarse.

“So grass land. Newt, can you feel what’s behind you?”

Newt shuddered and shook his head.

“Newt, I need you to feel it. Or touch the ground. Could you do either of that for me please?”

Slowly Newt crouched down. His blistered palm touched the ground.

“Describe it for me?”

“Why?” Newt cried out.

“Because I can’t touch it. Does it feel like grass?”

A frown bloomed on Newt’s face.

“I…it’s cold. So cold. Like marble.”

“Good,” Percival encouraged him, “was there any marble on the battle field?”

Newt shook his head.

“Okay. Look at it. Can you see your hand touching the groud?”

“Yes.” came the barely audible reply.

“Now look at me. Can you see me?”

The crouching wizard looked up. His eyes took in Percival, finally seeing something other than the horrors of his memories.

“Was I there with you in battle?”

“Percy.” Newt finally broke free from the clutches of his terror.

“Hello Newt. Could you turn down your magic? I’d like to come sit next to you.”

As though his strings had been cut, Newt all but collapsed onto the ground, his magic turning invisible and was contained once more. Percival was next to him in a blink, wrapping his coat around the shivering man. He looked up at Theseus and the others in the group who were staring at him in disbelief.

“We will need some warm tea, Newt’s case and some privacy. Now.” he ordered firmly but quietly. Theseus stared at them as the rest of the group dissipated. They took the two unconscious aurors with them, occasionally looking back at the huddled figures by the stairs. Percival regarded Theseus curiously while he kept up a low litany of soft reassurances for Newt.

“I can see you’re dying to say something. Spit it out.” he eventually said to his friend.

“Nice work. When he used to get like that he lashed out at me before snapping out of it. I thought he was over this by now though. It's been a few years since such a violent episode.”

Percival pursed his lips. He didn’t want to anger his friend but his idea of helping didn’t seem to be very, well, helpful. Instead he rubbed Newt’s shoulders reassuringly. He had known the younger wizard had worked with Ukranian Ironbellies on the Eastern Front during the war. He didn’t realise that he was probably part of the Dragon Corp. that was notorious for its brutality and effectiveness. Right up until they were ambushed and slaughtered during a scouting mission. They said there were no survivors. He looked at Theseus again, wanting to question all this. However the older Scamander seemed to have beaten him to it.

“He didn’t want anyone to know. His dragon saved him at a great cost to her. He still doesn’t remember getting out or much of what happened except for flashes like today. A secondary scouting party found them barely conscious just outside our defence lines. He was catatonic for weeks and had episodes like this almost daily for months after.”

“And his dragon?”

“Who do you think the first resident of his case was?” Theseus laughed bitterly. Percival’s face went slack with surprise.

“Is she…?”

“As far as I know. Ask him if you can meet her some time.” Theseus gave him a knowing smile. Before their conversation could progress Picquery herself appeared with Newt’s case in hand and a mug of steaming tea floating gently in front of her. She placed the case a few metres from the wizards on the ground and let the mug bob towards them. Percival nodded his thanks to her.

“Mr. Graves, your calendar has been cleared for the rest of the day. Please pass my apologies on to Mr. Scamander about this incident. I didn’t realise our friendly rivalry game would case him so much distress.” she addressed her employee.

“I think it was more the surprise attack.” Theseus cut in, “If he has some warning next time, I think he will enjoy the game as much as we do.”

“Perhaps.” Picquery acquiesced. “Though perhaps next time he may wish to take the morning off. We’ll let him decide.”

The two wizards nodded at her. Percival looked at Newt. The mug was on the ground in front of him untouched. He was slumped against his shoulder, eyes closed, shivering with aftershocks and cold from his damp shirt. It seemed that as well as he’d gotten to know the young Englishman over the last six months, he still had some learning to do.


End file.
